Ahead of the Curve
by sunnylikesunshine90
Summary: She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC?)) ((will be a Multi-chapter story))
1. Ch 1 - Say Something

**Title:** Ahead of the Curve  
 **Summary:** She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC?))  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, or any of the characters from Chicago Fire who may eventually be included in this story. If I did, I clearly wouldn't be typing this on my barely working laptop at four in the morning.  
 **A/N:** The nickname "Pop-Pop" because Voight just doesn't seem like a "Grandpa" kind of guy. Song used in this chapter is "Say Something" by A Great Big World.

* * *

"Mom…Mommy…Mom…"

A tiny finger poked Rachel in the cheek, a finger smeared with the remnants of a peanut butter sandwich. The scent of coffee reached her nose long before the sunlight from her windows rose to meet her eyes, the synapses beginning to fire more rapidly in her brain as she awoke. Bed sagging under his weight, the child crawled onto the blanket covered mass that was his mother and began bouncing up and down repeatedly. Grinning at the thought in her head, Rachel sat up hurriedly, her son falling backwards on the bed.

"Oh no, Jackson! The Tickle Monster!"

The sound of his laughter echoed through the apartment, matched only by the deeper chuckle she heard in response from the other room. Footsteps came closer (as did the smell of the coffee, she noted) until the bedroom door swung open the rest of the way, her father in-law's frame casting a shadow over the doorway.

"Was wonderin' if you were planning on getting up today, so I figured I'd send the kid in as a buffer."  
"Hank, it's Saturday. Saturday, as in the day after Friday, as in 'it's my day off' Saturday."

"Yeah, about that…"

Almost as if on cue, her phone began to buzz from its place on her dresser.

"C'mon, Jackson – Let's give your mom a minute or two to get ready."  
"Okay, Pop-Pop", the young boy shouted, before running off to catch the Saturday morning cartoons.

 _ **Say something, I'm giving up on you**_

Sliding out of the bed, her feet make contact with the cold wood floors, making a mental note to adjust the heat. _'Fucking Chicago winters….',_ she mused to herself. Rachel shuffled forward, turning the ringer of her phone back on, but not before the pictures caught her eye. On each side of the phone sat two framed photos – one of her and Justin before he got sent away, and the other of Hank and Jackson on the day he was born. Her son looked just like them both, something she cherished with each passing glance, each grin. Since her own family turned their backs on her, the Voight family had, without question, taken her in and taught her how to live, how to survive.

 _ **I'll be the one, if you want me to**_

It had nearly killed her when Justin got sent upstate. They had been friends, and yeah – that friendship had eventually morphed into an actual relationship, even a marriage44, but there was something more there, something that words failed to describe accurately. With him, she felt free. With him, she felt….safe. With him, she _felt._

 _ **Anywhere, I would have followed you**_

They had had plans – college, travel, take a couple hundred bucks and see where it took them. Justin spoke of wanting to leave Chicago, leave behind the tainted legacy that the family name carried and creating one all his own; a name he'd be proud to pass on to a son of his own one day – a son he hadn't known of at the time, one he'd yet to meet or even speak to.

"Yo, you still with us, kid?"

And just like that, her reverie was broken, attention drawn firmly back to the here and now. A glance towards Hank and she felt that familiar pang of loneliness in her chest. Jackson would get to be with his father once he was released, but it wouldn't be the same, _he_ wouldn't be the same. Her son wouldn't get to know the man his mother had fallen so deeply in love with.

"Ye…Yeah. Give me 20, and I'll be good to go."

With one last passing glance to the photo, she found herself turning it face down, unable to deal with the laughing face of a man who no longer remained.

 _ **Say something, I'm giving up on you**_


	2. Gentle Violence

**Title:** Ahead of The Curve  
 **Summary:** She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC))  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD or the song lyrics used in this chapter. I also do not own any Chicago Fire characters or references that may eventually be made in this story.

* * *

"Honest to God, worst moment in recent memory."  
"You picked up a random woman at Molly's when you were both piss drunk and yet, you are surprised that she doesn't look half as good the next morning?"  
"Well….yeah, a little."

She shook her head, not at all surprised by the conversation between Jay and Antonio. Hell, there were probably guys out there somewhere who had once told a story like that about her after a night of too much tequila and not enough regret. In a job like this, when stress was high and only getting higher, everyone needed an outlet. With everything he had seen in war and on the streets of Chi-town, she certainly wasn't going to deny Halstead his only outlet. Olinsky apparently had other ideas as he walked past, thunking the younger officer on the back of the head.

"Are we here to work, or are we here to hear about how little game young gun here has?"

A few chuckles rippled through the 'merry band of misfits', as Sergeant Platt had dubbed them, before Voight began taping photographs to the white board in front of them.

"Listen up, got a name on those dope deaths. It's a dealer named 'Rev', up on south Emerald. We're going to set up a controlled buy. Halstead, Clarke in the doorway. Do _not_ go inside."  
"You got it, boss", Rachel reassured, casting a quick glance to Jay, who nodded in confirmation. They moved to get their gear together, ready to get the show on the road – but Voight's authoritative tone stopped them one more time.

"One more thing. We've been doing this for what? Two months? Now more than ever, we keep everything in-house. Understand? I don't care how they run other departments or how you came up. This is Intelligence – my unit. You tell me the truth, so I can lie for you. And if you ever go over my head, it'll be the last head you go over. Everybody goes home tonight."

The dealer's apartment wasn't terribly different from any other they had busted; faded brick exterior, yard space that looked like it hadn't been maintained in many months, or even years, broken down Caddy that was propped up on cement blocks on the side lot. Too many cases had been worked in places like this, pulling the bodies of kids who died far too soon out of dirty dumpsters, the needles still hanging from their arms. Rachel felt a bit of sympathy for them; it is next to impossible to pull yourself out of the pit when it is all you ever knew – but the longer she worked the streets, the more she saw people doing stupid things, she found she had less hope for the future of the neighborhood.

"Rev! Open up!"

Halstead's fist rapped against the hollow core door, over and over again, rattling the poorly secured portal in its frame. Neighbors peaked out of windows and around corners, wondering if this is going to be another bust or if it was just a disgruntled customer of a local dealer. Rachel tried to play the part as convincingly as she could, wrapped up on Jay, biting her fingernails to stubs, twitching like an addict that was itching for their next fix. _"I'm going out on a limb here. Rev might not be home.",_ she heard Antonio's voice echo through the small earpiece Jin had given her. He was probably right, but this was the best lead they'd had on the case to date, and she knew that they couldn't let it slip through their fingers again.

"C'mon man!"

The door opened just enough for a man to stick his face through. One look told Rachel that this wasn't Rev – and that look was enough to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and pay attention. Voight had told her once when she was a rookie that her gut was going to be the most important tool she had in this job and to never ignore that instinct when it told her something was up.

"What?"  
"Yeah, uh….is…is Rev here?" Halstead asked, the undercurrent of unease not going unnoticed.  
"No, so quit pounding on the door."

The other man tried to swing the door shut, but Jay's hand slapped down onto the exterior, keeping it open for even just a few more seconds.

"Hey man, my girl – she's going into rehab tomorrow, wants to go out with a bang tonight. Rev, he usually hooks me up. You ever been to rehab, man? It sucks."

His voice stuttered, but it was obviously having the desired effect on the man behind the door. Rolling her eyes to match Jay's story, Rachel found herself glancing down. A suspicious red stain on the bottom of his pants confirmed her original suspicions – something was going on here, something much bigger than she and Halstead could handle during an undercover bust. They needed to get out of there and regroup with the unit. Jay moved to enter the apartment, but she caught his belt, jerking him back outside.

"We'll just come back when Rev's here."

The look her partner shot her told her that he knew something was up, but that they needed to play it safe until they were out of ear and eye shot.

"Are you kiddin' me? You've been up my ass for two hours about scorin' some H!"  
"Well, I changed my mind."  
"Ladies, am I right?", Halstead tried to joke, as they headed down to meet up with Voight and the others.

They had gathered in an alley behind the building, forming a bullpen of sorts.

"It looked like blood to me. And other than the fact that we don't know this guy…"  
"You don't have to justify it. You got a bad hit, you got a bad hit. Let's go in."  
"No," Erin objected from her place in the 'circle'. "Because _maybe_ it looked like blood? That's not probable cause to force an entry."  
"He could've been marinating a chicken and spilled barbecue sauce on his pants."

The look on Hank's face was one of surprise – surprise that the case fell so easily into their laps but more so that Dawson and Lindsay were so willing to just dump it all in favor of probable cause.

"We got three O.D.'s traced back to the heroin Rev's movin'. You want to wait for another kid to die?"  
"We'll do a knock-and-talk.", Olinsky piped up. "Whoever's in control of the apartment gets all squirrely, we'll take it from there."

Voight called in for backup – Burgess and Atwater had been stationed close by, just in case – while the rest of the team got ready for battle. Part of Rachel hoped it went off without a hitch, but another part of her, one she typically tried to ignore in the interest of her own personal safety, wanted some action. It was a dangerous thing to want when she had a four year old little boy at home, but when she quit drinking and quit partying, she had to seek the same kind of high elsewhere. Hank and Antonio walked in front, with Rachel, Erin, Jay and Olinsky bringing up the rear.

"Rach, you…uh, you got a little something there in your hair."  
"It's probably peanut butter. My kid decided he wanted to make his own breakfast this morning, and by the time I got him cleaned up, I didn't really have time for a shower."  
"I remember those days.", Alvin chuckled. His daughter was now well into her teenage years, but he had been helpful when she had parenting related questions.  
"I remember one time when she was maybe four or five yea-", his sentence was cut off as gunshots ricocheted around them, glass shattering as they connected with their targets.

' _Well',_ she observed, ' _looks like you'll be getting that action today after all.'_


	3. An Unfathomable Possiblity

**Title:** Ahead of The Curve  
 **Summary:** She thought the four year prison sentence was almost impossible to handle. How will she handle things when he is released? ((Justin Voight/OC))  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD or the song lyrics used in this chapter. I also do not own any Chicago Fire characters or references that may eventually be made in this story.

* * *

Her mind briefly registered the gunshots echoing against the brick buildings, the shattering of the plexiglass windshield that took a direct hit – small shards of it flying onto her hair as she instinctively covered her head with her hands. Someone's hand had grabbed on her belt and was pulling her behind the SUV, Olinsky if she had to guess, her feet moving against the gravel to match his pace. Eyes frantically scanned the surrounding windows, desperate to find the source of the gunfire but not finding it.

"Get the long guns!" Voight called out, each detective falling into their familiar roles. Nobody ever truly wished for gunfire, but they were trained to be prepared for anything. Calls began to go over the radio as Antonio radioed in for backup from the uniformed officers positioned around the block. With everyone 'locked, stocked, and ready to go', they moved forward into the building, cautious with the knowledge that each step could be their last. People stuck their heads out of their doors, or tried to come down the stairs, confusing Rachel. As police officers that were trained in these kinds of situations, they still got nervous – how were these people not running for their lives?

Within a matter of seconds (even if it did seem like hours in her head), the battering ram had the door open with just one thrust, splintered pieces of wood falling to the ground. With careful eyes, they began to clear the apartment.

"Clear!"  
"Clear!"  
"Body!", Erin called out from the room she was in. A quick peek inside as she passed by was gruesome enough for Rachel – a body slumped against the bathtub, the once-connected head now placed into the sink, blood covering the entire floor in a scene that she knew would later be described by the newspapers as 'horrific'. It wasn't an overly large apartment by any means, so within a few steps they were in the final room – the living room.

"That was Rev in the john – offender must've booked."  
"Call it in. Clear the rest of the building – shooter's in the wind."

A noise from the closet, a rustling of sorts, got their attention, slamming them back into full alert. With guns in 'ready' positions, Erin flung the door open, leaving them in a state of disbelief. Crouched under a few coats was a boy – fourteen, maybe fifteen years old – shaking like a leaf.

"How is he?"

Antonio asked as he walked into the opposite side of the interrogation room. Rachel glanced through the two-way mirror, watching as the boy from the apartment, D'Anthony, played with the edge of the table. They had brought him back to the precinct, told him they wanted to ask him some questions while they waited for his legal guardian to show up.

"The poor kid was terrified. Hell, trapped in that apartment with a headless body – who Forensics said wasn't that way when he arrived – and someone who wouldn't hesitate to open fire on the police…..I'd have been terrified, too. Jesus, he's just a kid, really not that much older than our little ones, y'know?"

"Hey, that's not us, Rach. We're good parents with good kids. Diego, Eva, Jackson – they won't end up hanging out in those places."

She wanted to believe Antonio, to hope that Jackson would have a better, easier life than the one she had grown up with – but a lifetime of knowledge learned on the streets warned her that better parents had lost their children to crime, making it an unfathomable possibility.


	4. Caution: Dangerous Curves Ahead

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics that may be contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go all "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys)  
 **Author's Note:** This was probably the first real "tweaks" I made onto the original version of this story. There was a commenter in the later chapters who pointed out that I had essentially replaced Erin, and that was not my intention. Thus, an added bit of backstory to connect the girls (think different fathers, that's why one is Lindsey and one is Clarke) ;) Also, excuse the weird line break to separate the flashback and the current time.

* * *

' _I have struck a city – a real city – and they call it Chicago. I urgently desire to never see it again. It is inhabited by Savages.' - Rudyard Kipling_

 _Summer 1989_

 _The summer air was thick in Chicago, the heat weighing down on each resident like a sack of heavy bricks. The massive use of air conditioning units across the city was causing rolling blackouts, leaving the less fortunate to deal with the sweltering temperatures. In one of the many parks, a woman sat on a bench, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead. A young girl swung herself from monkey bar to monkey bar; exuberant cries of children enjoying their last minutes of youth before the darkness of reality came crushing in._

" _Mommy, look! Did you see that?"_

 _The woman nodded at her from the bench, a ghost of a grin playing across her jaded features._

" _Yeah, I saw it. Keep goin'."_

 _She felt the man's presence behind her, rather than saw or heard. He took a seat beside her, scanning the crowd of people for potential harm and taking in his CI's appearance – bouncing leg, fingernails chewed down to stubs, eyes that couldn't focus for more than a second or two at a time – she was jonesing for her next fix._

" _You told me you'd get me the money, Voight. You promised."  
"Yeah, well – you also told me the Intel would pan out, which it didn't. This was supposed to be a 'tit-for-tat' arrangement, Bunny."  
_" _How in the fuck am I supposed to feed my kids on empty promises?"  
_ " _Well, you seem to be doin' just fine when it comes to feeding your habit."_

 _She could resist the man as he turned her arm over, exposing a half a dozen fresh track marks littering her pale skin. He could do little more than shake his head; He knew from the very beginning that using someone with an active drug addiction as a confidential informant was going to be risky, if not downright stupid, but had taken the leap of faith anyway. In the long run, it had been paying off – but in the recent short term, she hadn't given him any information of us and the powers-that-be were none too happy. With a sigh, he pulled his wallet out, removing a hundred dollar bill, pressing the bill into her now-outstretched palm._

" _Put the needle down for five seconds and buy the kids some food. They look like twigs, for Christ's Sakes."_

 _Rising from the bench, he moved forward towards one of the little girls, one who bore the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her mother, who was now eyeing him with a wide-eyed curiosity._

" _Police officers are supposed to help people right?"  
_ " _That's right."  
"Can you help me?"_

 _Kneeling down in front of her, he nodded his head, realizing that this kid couldn't be more than a year or two younger than the son he had left at home that morning._

" _Always, Rachel."_

* * *

It had happened so fast – so much faster than she had expected.

One second, the unit was mourning Jules' (a detective on loan to Intelligence) death and the next, they were taking part in a city-wide Amber Alert for the child of one of their own. The man wasn't that bright, taking his victim to one of the most public places in the city, but without that slip-up, who knows what would've happened? Erin had followed him onto that bus – against both her better judgment and Voight's direct orders to stay put. The Greyhound bus company was probably none too happy with the new need for paint and minor repairs, but it had worked – Antonio's son was unharmed, at least physically. With a shiny new charge of kidnapping adding to his record, the man responsible for Diego's kidnapping was shipped off to county lockup for trial and possible sentencing. It was a minor comfort that what they were doing, the time spent away from their families wasn't in vain – They were taking a known felon off of the street. Someone was going to sleep safe that night, even if that safety was only temporary.

"Hey, nice work today, yeah?" a voice called from behind her. Turning, she saw the rookie looking at her expectantly, waiting for a response. _'What was his name again'_ , she thought to herself. _'Rosen….Russell…Ruston….Ruzek. Yeah, that's it. Ruzek.'_

"Yeah, it was a good day. Diego gets to go home, safe and sound – Hard not to love our jobs on days like this." she found herself smiling at the reunion. Antonio and Laura had been so ecstatic to see him again, a very tearful occasion. Rachel hadn't lied – it was moments like that that had her putting on the vest and strapping on her gun every morning. If the roles were reversed and it had been Jackson instead of Diego, she hoped that there would be officers doing the exact same thing.

Voight poked his head out of his office, pointing at Rachel.

"You, come 'ere. We need to have a chat."

Rachel nodded at Ruzek, a silent indication of a job well done. For his first few days, he was already leaps and bounds above where she had been. Olinsky said he seemed to want to act first and think later – but much like he had known about her during her rookie days, Alvin said that the kid had strong potential and plenty of desire to learn.

Walking into Hank's office was nothing new, the dark woods used for the desk and wall paneling meant to make it more inviting but really just made it seem dark and dingy.

"What's up?"  
"Justin's getting early release, it's moved up to Friday night."

And with that simple statement, Rachel felt her entire universe grind to a sudden halt.


	5. For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go all "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

 **Author's Note:** sdofiajkdfahfasdf. That is me keysmashing (it's a tumblr thing) over the great feedback that I'm getting so far. This is a good thing – a much appreciated thing. For the record, I'm writing it that Justin was out on bail before his sentencing. There is a slight gap between when a criminal is sentenced and when they are required to turn themselves over to authorities.

* * *

' _Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.' – Anais Nin_

 _April 2010_

" _Babe….Babe, you up? Rach…"_

 _She stirred in her sleep, hand brushing away the gentle touches from her face. The sun had just barely risen – an hour ago, at the most – but it cast the most beautiful glow into the small apartment. The weather forecasters were calling for an inch or two of snow, so the streets were alight with people trying to get things done before it hit. The touches fluttered across her face once again, begging her to open her eyes to the new day. He smiled back at her, and for a moment, she was fairly certain that her heart stopped mid-beat. Most little girls dream of growing up and finding someone to become their entire universe; Rachel had never thought that was in the cards for her…..until now._

" _Mm…good morning."  
_ "' _Morning", he chimed, happily. The look on his face reminded her of that of a child on Christmas morning. "Happy birthday."_

 _25 years old. There were days when she was sure she wouldn't reach 18, let alone 25. Most people stopped celebrating their birthdays after their twenty-first, but not Justin. He insisted on treating each birthday like a special occasion, on buying presents like they were going out of style. When she saw how happy it made him, she simply couldn't say no._

" _Here. Open it."_

 _She glanced down and saw the little black jewelry box in his outstretched hand. Her heart rate quickened every nerve alight with the knowledge of what that little box contained._

" _Justin,"  
_ " _No, no, no. Don't say no just yet." His trembling fingers pulled the ring from the box, resting it on the tip of Rachel's left ring finger. "I want you to know that I have every intention of taking care of you, of_ _ **them…**_ _", he murmured, hand resting on the slightest curve of their growing baby. "Just…..say you'll think about it."_

* * *

Rachel's fingers twirled the band around her finger – slightly dented after four years of continuous wear, but still as perfect in her eyes as they day she received it. She had known this day was coming, had gotten his letters, listened to the voicemails he left her a couple of times a month. But, truth be told, she wasn't one hundred percent sure she wanted him 'out'. Justin had always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, and with a new criminal record, it would be even harder for him to find steady employment. A recently released criminal with too much time on his hands was never a good thing, but it was no longer about what she wanted personally; It was about what was best for their son. Justin hadn't even met him, had insisted that he didn't want to meet his son for the first time in a visiting room that carried more bacteria than a public toilet seat. She wasn't sure if she wanted Jackson to have a father that was there one minute, and locked up again the next.

"He's asking that you be there", Hank's voice continued, sensing the fission of unease that crept into the air. "It's no big deal, if you can't…."

"Of course it's a big deal. He's getting out." Her voice sounded foreign, even to her own ears. Part of her knew that she should just fess up now so it was out of the way, admit her doubts to the man who often times read her better than she might have known herself – but another part, the part she eventually listened to, told her buck up and deal with it for the time being. _'You don't want Jackson to grow up without his daddy, do you? You grew up without one, and we see how you turned out'_ , her inner voice taunted.

"Yeah…"

A quick survey of his face told Rachel that Hank had thought the very same thing. They were both all-too-familiar with Justin's patterns. He'd insist he was walking the straight and narrow, only to get busted a month or two into his parole on some bullshit violation that he knew good and well would get him sent right back to county lockup. They weren't naïve, and at this point, they were barely even hopeful. Moving to his side, she leaned up against him much like she did during the first (and only) time she had gone to one of her mother's various court hearings, hoping that as a combined force, they'd have a better idea of how to handle this disruption to their lives.

"….What are we going to do, Hank?"  
"We're going to survive, kid. You're going to go home, clean up your apartment. I'm going to pick my grandson up from daycare and drop him at the sitter's, and then tonight, we're going to go pick his father up from prison. Y'know, good, wholesome family activities."

The tension bubbled over in the form of a laugh – a good, relieving, doubled-over-and-unable-to-breathe laugh.

She managed to get into the locker room before the laughter turned to tears.


	6. Feeling Yourself Disintegrate

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago Fire, Chicago PD, or any song lyrics contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go all "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys)

* * *

' _Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom' – Søren Kierkegaard_

 _September 1999_

 _The voice of one of the guards echoed over the loudspeaker. It was some droning nonsense about the penalties of sneaking in contraband – time in administrative segregation (Ad Seg, to the inmates) for the prisoner and possible jail time for the person who snuck it in. After a while, she stopped listening to it, became almost numb to it all. Self preservation was a fact that she had learned the hard way, after her first stint in Juvie. Cook County Juvenile Justice was a harsh world, little more than a mere stepping stone to the adult facility – and everyone seemed to understand that but the guards and the general public, who felt safer with the 'criminals' locked up behind bars. 'Criminals', she mused to herself with a chuckle. 'We're a bunch of kids who were never taught the right way to behave – but hey, if it makes you feel better, then you go ahead and tell yourselves that it's not your fault, champ.'_

 _She felt, rather than saw, him enter the visiting area, a trait she could remember him having since she was a child. A few of the other kids stared up at him – some in awe of him, a few others in contempt – as he walked towards her._

" _Look Hank,"  
"Shut up."_

 _Biting back a scathing response that would have consisted of a 'fuck you' or two, Rachel took a seat at the suspiciously sticky table. Hank's face remained passive, but if she knew anything about the detective seated across from her, it's that the rage was being well-contained just under the surface._

" _I'm not going to ask you why you were carrying that much crack on you", he began. "Hell, I'm not even going to ask why you were carrying crack on you in the first place. I don't really care, and I think you and I both know that any excuse you tried to give me would be bullshit anyway."_

" _Well, if you know_ _ **that**_ _…"_

" _I_ _ **said**_ _shut. up."_

 _The intensity in his words had her stopped yet again, feeling almost like a scolded child who was caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar or lying about a grade on a report card. Her hands twisted around each other, needing something, anything, to keep her mind firing on all cylinders. Hank sighed, setting a folder of paperwork on the table in front of Rachel, not missing the initial look of confusion on her features._

" _What the hell is that?"_

" _That is the legal guardian paperwork. Your mom…..she ain't fit to take care of you and Erin anymore, kid."_

 _She wanted to say she was surprised, to be angry at her mother for just signing away her rights, her children – but it'd be wrong. Truth is that Rachel had expected this day for a long time, since she was old enough to understand that not all parents shot up in front of their kids, that not all parents showed up with black eyes after pissing a pimp off, that most families consisted of at least one adult with a steady, legal job. The tears stung at her eyes, betrayal hurting her more than she had expected. A hand came up from across the table towards her face, wiping away one of the tears that had gradually began to slide down her cheek._

" _I figured as much. We've pretty much raised ourselves since mom and I reached the same mental age when I was like ten – nothing new there. What's this mean?"_

" _It means that you're on your own. When you get out of this shithole, they're going to drop kick you into foster care."_

 _Stories were passed around the unit like the common cold – stories about families, friends, the crimes one committed to get locked up before they could legally buy a pack of smokes from the corner store. But the worst stories were the ones about the foster care system and everything that happened with it. Panic shot through her body – Rachel's only other family was her sister who was just as much of a minor as she was. If she went to foster care, her entire life was done with. If she made it out alive (and it was a pretty big 'If'), she would never be the same and would have to live with the looks of pity people gave when they found out she was one of 'them', one of the 'fosters'._

" _I can't go into foster care, Hank. I just…..I can't."_

" _Alright, look – you can come stay with me for awhile. When my wife, Camille, found out about this, she insisted – got you a room all ready to go. BUT, there will be rules and conditions. This shit," he gestured to the dingy, dated reception area. "This shit stops now. You get locked up again then that's it – I'm not pulling you out of here again."_

 _Something hopefully began to grow inside of her. While she wasn't exactly eager to be joining a 'Beaver Cleaver'-esque type family, Rachel knew it'd be better than foster care and miles better than trying to make it on the streets – but there was just one nagging thought._

" _So, me and my sister get a place to stay, food in our bellies, clothes on our backs. What's in it for you?"_

 _She swore she saw a smile ghost across his face before being replaced by a shake of the head._

" _You just concentrate on getting out of here, alright? I'll be back before your court date."_

 _Voight rose from the table, and signaled to the guard waiting at the gate to let him out. The noise of the bars slamming shut had never sounded more like 'freedom'._

* * *

The noise hadn't changed.

In fourteen years, the noise of the jail hadn't changed one bit.

Rachel stood up from her place against the hood of the car, and did another lap around it – anything to burn off some of the nervous energy.

"If you don't knock it off, I'm going to handcuff you to the fender.", Hank muttered from where he stood, almost grinning at the ball of energy that she had turned into. He knew she was nervous, knew she was worried about how things were going to change. The past few nights, he had joined her in that nervousness. Justin being there for his kid was just about the most important thing he could imagine, but they couldn't force him to stay on the straight and narrow. He was angry at his son, his flesh and blood, for putting Rachel and Jackson through this. Maybe he hadn't been the best example of paternal love, but he had done his best to raise Justin up right after Camille had passed. Obviously, it hadn't been enough – ' _but it's time for Justin to man up and take care of his family. I'm not going to be around forever'._

One of their phones buzzed, signaling a new text message. "It's me,", Hank muttered, flipping it open to see what was so important. They had told Antonio to handle things in their temporary absence. "Shit. I gotta take off."

If looks could kill, he was pretty sure that he'd have been laying in a bloody heap on the ground. Rachel was shooting him daggers, the likes of which he hadn't seen since she was 14 and getting hauled in on assault & battery charges. "You've got to be kidding me. You've got to be **fuckin'** kidding me right now, Hank. You cannot possibly tell me that whatever that text was about is somehow more important than this. Don't leave me here to handle this.", her voice reminding him of the little four year girl he'd push on the swing set after meeting up with her mother.

"I'm sorry, kid. I've got to go; You'll be fine. I'll meet you guys at dinner, I promise."

Rachel waited until she heard the taxi pull away before turning to the sky, yelling "FUCK" with an exhale. She continued her pacing routine, trying to come up with a new battle plan of how to handle everything. She felt out of control – and hated it. The buzzer sounded as the gates opened. Time seemed to slow as she turned towards them.

There he was.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

And in that moment, she was alive.


	7. At Least I'm Not as Sad as I Used to Be

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

* * *

' _Journeys end in lovers meeting.' – William Shakespere_

 _October 1999_

 _Trees lined the streets, nice cars were parked in paved driveways, men were raking the leaves into big piles just to watch children harpoon themselves into said piles, scattering the leaves once again. Rachel couldn't stop herself from thinking that this must be how the other side lives 24/7, 365. She felt his continued glances from the driver's seat – but ignored them in favor of examining her new surroundings. It was still so surreal. One day, she's taking what she can grab from the convenience store, trying to avoid the cops – and the next day, she's moving into Suburbia with a police officer._

" _It'll be nice havin' you around. Think the wife is getting a bit sick of all of that testosterone."  
_ " _How old is your son, again?", she questioned, honestly wanting to know._

 _When Hank said he had a son, her mind immediately went into the "avoid-him-at-all-costs-don't-get-kicked-out" mode. He could've been the second coming of Christ himself for all she cared – it was enough that the Voight family was taking her in for the time being. She didn't want to spit in their faces by corrupting their boy._

" _He's just a bit older than you, turns 16 next month. This is us.", he explained, pulling into the drive of a two-story home. A woman about Hank's age stood on the stoop with a miniature version of him ('Mini-Hank', she dubbed him in her mind) standing beside her. Urging the two young girls out of the car, he pulled their matching duffle bags full of clothing from the backseat._

" _Guys, this is Rachel, that's Erin. That's my wife, Camille – and this is,"_

" _Name's Justin.", the boy grinned. Most other girls probably would have been throwing themselves on him, but Rachel kept reminding herself of the promise she made in the car. 'They could have left your ass in foster care, but they didn't. The kid…Justin….is off limits'. Besides, the air around him screamed of teenage hormonal 'prove-I'm-the-alpha-dog' business. To Rachel, that was too oddly reminiscent of the Caveman days. The sarcastic response was out of her mouth before she could stop it._

" _You Justin. Me Rachel. Me stay in home with the family."_

 _Camille seemed to be biting back a smile of her own, while Hank just shook his head, no longer surprised by her antics. Justin had started to laugh, which, if anything, just pissed Rachel off even more. He took the duffle bags from his father, cocky grin never leaving his face._

" _C'mon. Let me show you to your room, maybe give you a tour of our humble abode."_

" _Gee, I don't know. You sure big caveman no want to give me flea bath first?"_

 _Hank and Camille watched as the three teenagers entered their home, both of them taking a deep breath in preparation for this new…adventure._

" _Oh, this is going to be fun."_

" _It's just a little competition, Hank. I think having the girls around will be good for him."_

* * *

Since news had reached her about his release, Rachel had been planning this moment. There were so many things she wanted to do, so many things she wanted to say. Ground rules were going to need to be lain before they could move on. All of those plans went out the window when she saw him standing in front of her, not looking even a bit different from the day he surrendered himself. His hair was a bit longer, muscles a bit bigger – but he still had that same shit-eating grin that had hooked her in the first place. He glanced back at the guards, before throwing his head back, hollering "FREEDOM!" as loud as he possibly could. The fourteen year old girl inside of her that had been enamored with this boy, this man, wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him and never, ever let go. The twenty-eight year old, however – she had different plans.

"Hey Pippy Longstocking."

The childhood nickname warmed her heart a bit, but the defenses were still securely in place. Her voice betrayed her state of emotional torment, "How you doin', Jus? It's good to see you."

He stepped forward, wrapping her in his arms – an action that was once more comforting than anything else in the world. Rachel wanted so badly to believe that this time was going to be different, that it was all going to work out this time – so much so that she didn't resist him, let herself melt into his embrace. The scent of prison hung thick on his clothing, but there was still something there that was so very distinctly _him._ They had once joked about bottling and selling it after he caught her nuzzling his chest at 3 in the morning.

"Easy, Pip. It's like you think I'm goin' to disappear or something."

Justin may have been kidding, but he knew there was some truth to his words. The class they made him take before getting released talked about how hard incarceration was on the families, and while he had made fun of it at the time, he knew it couldn't have been easy. His hands rubbed up and down her back in a patern so gentle that it would have been so easy to just give in right away. Pulling back, she smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her outfit, noting the way his eyes scanned the immediate area.

"So, where's my dad?"

"He had to take care of something, you know how it is." The lie was beginning to sound like complete shit to her, pre-rehearsed from years of overuse. Hank wasn't exactly fond of intense situations like this, and the work excuse had always been a convenient 'out' when he didn't want to do something.

"And Jackson? Where's my boy? I want to meet him!"

The enthusiasm was endearing, reignited the hope of Justin sticking around for his young son. Pulling her phone free from her jacket pocket, she tapped the screen a few times until a picture popped up.

"He's at the sitter's place right now, didn't really think this was an appropriate place for that little introduction – but here's little man's picture. Took that one….just about a week ago now. That poor kid is starting to grow like a weed," The motherly love oozed out of every word, thick with the knowledge and belief that her son was the best thing she had ever done. She caught a look of fatherly pride flickering across his face, thumb tracing over his son's features.

"Oh, man. He's beautiful. He's just…he's…..He's perfect."

' _Yes',_ she mused as she watched him. _'He certainly is'._


	8. Letting Go

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

* * *

' _To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.' – Lewis B. Smedes_

 _February 2001_

 _The snow crunched under the girls' shoes, the feet within them having frozen to the point of numbness. The city was quiet, as if the fresh blanketing of snow muted everyone's problems for the time being. Bunny had called that morning, begged them to forgive and forget, said that things were going to be different for their family this time around. Knowing what he'd say, Rachel hadn't told Hank yet, and the only thing she or Erin had told Justin was that she was heading out for a bit, and if she wasn't back by ten that he should call his dad. The clock was sitting at 9:50. She had hoped beyond all hope that her mother hadn't been lying, wanting to be with her more than anything else in the world._

 _She had been wrong._

 _Erin's hand reached forward, inserting her key into the deadbolt as she helped her sister through the doorway. Justin was pacing the floor of the living room, glancing at the clock on the wall every couple of seconds, thumb poised over the 'call' button on the phone. He turned quickly when he heard the door open from the other room._

" _Where the fuck have you been? I was two seconds from callin- ", his voice froze midsentence, as he took in Rachel's appearance. She didn't blame him. Hell, she'd probably be just as dumbstruck if she saw him walking in, looking like he had just gotten ran over by a Mack truck._

" _Well, gee, Jus – you sure do know how to make a girl feel pretty.", she joked, trying to ignore the pain that she knew to be her lip wound tearing open again. Justin dropped the phone on the sofa, going to her side and slipping an arm around her back. Rachel knew that by morning, she'd look as bad as she felt, but for the time being, she needed to play it cool. Depositing her onto a stool at the kitchen counter, Justin grabbed the small first aid kit that his dad kept in the bathroom and began to gently tend to his girlfriend's cuts and scrapes, while Erin went to the other room to check out her own minor cuts and scrapes._

" _You going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to play 20 questions?"  
"Look, someday, I'll tell you everything. I'll give you the story, beginning to end, and even let you ask your questions – but not tonight, okay? Just….forgive and forget, alright?"_

 _Justin had learned from the past few years of living with Rachel that the harder he pushed, the more she'd resist – so he just nodded his head in confirmation._

" _Yeah, forgive and forget."_

* * *

"And so – so this brother comes across the yard – he's all skeezed out on Crystal or somethin' – and he says, he says 'Chicken Pot Pie', like I'm supposed to know what that is. So my boy looks at him, points back at the block, and he says 'That way'. Did not matter what this cat was on, he just doubles back to where he came from, lickity split, you know what I'm sayin'?"

They had made it to dinner, Hank joining them as he had promised. The car ride to the restaurant had been filled with little more than idle chit chat, Rachel not sure of what to say to Justin anymore. It would take time, that much she knew, but things had changed so much since he got locked up. It felt like it would take an eternity to get back to any kind of semblance of what they had. Hank glanced up at his son during the story, presumably remembering his own year spent inside of lock up. Justin was still amped up on that initial taste of freedom, his voice going much faster than normal.

"Listen, J, I got some news. Um, I had to pull some strings, but I got you in at the CTA."

Chicago Transit Authority. Everyone who had ever been locked up knew that once you had a record, it became ten times as difficult to get gainful employment – so Hank had taken the extra step to get Justin a job. He looked between Rachel and his father, almost in disbelief.

"That's where….That's where city workers send their loser relatives."  
"It's a job, and it'll help you get back on your feet.", Rachel chimed in, wanting to direct the initial wave of Justin's frustration off of his father.

"You know you're sounding more and more like him every day, right?"

The smart ass remark threw her for a second, but she had seen it coming. People used to joke that the more time people spent around Voight, the more they became just like him. To most people, it was a joke – to Justin, he meant it as an insult. Letting it roll off of her back, she shrugged, taking another bite of her meal.

"You start Monday.", Hank said, his tone saturated with finality.  
"Okay, Pop. Sure."

The buzzing of the phone had Voight excusing himself to go answer the call, leaving a frustrated Rachel and Justin on their own. She was rather impressed with how quickly Justin had agreed with his father's plan after his initial reservations. Catching her staring at him, Justin looked up at Rachel and grinned,

"Forgive and forget, right?"


	9. Precious Illusions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

* * *

" _It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being." – John Joseph Powell_

 _November 2010_

 _Seventeen hours, thirty-seven minutes, and eleven seconds. They said that first time labor could take a long time to progress, but in the back of her mind, Rachel had always thought they were lying, trying to make it seem more dramatic to get her to buy into the Lamaze classes. The nurses in the E.R. had mistakenly asked if it was the father that had brought her in. It wasn't their fault; with the way he was fussing over her, any onlooker would have assumed the same thing. The ease with which he answered "No, I'm HER father." surprised her. Hank had taken her in when she was so young, had brought her into his family without as much as a second thought. He was more of a father to her than her own had been; what surprised her was that she was totally comfortable with that title being bestowed upon him._

 _After hours and hours of watching Hank pace the floor, she had tried to send him to work, back to the apartment, anywhere to get him out of the nurses and doctors hair. Rachel's concerns were brushed off with the wave of his hand and the assurance that while Justin couldn't be there, he wanted to make damn sure that she wasn't alone in this._

" _Hank, I am about nine thousand percent sure that the nurses are not lying about long labor at this point. I mean, how long did you say Camille had been in labor with Justin?"  
_ " _Just about 20 hours or so."  
_ " _Exactly, I'm good. If it gets too bad, I'll just have that lovely anesthesiologist hook me up with another epidural. It'll be great."_

 _Looking down at the young woman in the hospital bed, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, Hank found himself wondering when she became an adult – and how he could get it to stop. He wanted to drive to county lockup and beat the hell out of his son for missing such a momentous occasion. Conceding to Rachel's wishes, he had left shortly after and headed towards the police station. He had been there for less than two hours when he received a simple message: 'It's a boy' – and a picture of his new grandson. Alvin had patted his back in congratulations and told him to go on over to the hospital, that he would hold the fort down._

 _A few days later, after visiting hours, Justin took the photograph of his new child to his cell, memorizing every feature of the little boy's face. It was in that moment that he knew, that he realized he would do whatever it took to get home to his son._

* * *

"Rach…Rachel…..yo, you still with us here, Clarke?"

"What – I'm here. I'm up. I'm here."

Her head snapped up from where it had been resting on her desk, wiping frantically at it to ensure she hadn't drooled in her sleep. Antonio chuckled at her from where he leaned against the heavy metal desk, having been through more than his fair share of sleepless nights as well. They had both been assigned to Intelligence at the same time, both had kids who were roughly the same age – Antonio had grown to consider Rachel as a sister, and as her 'Big Brother', figured he should watch out for her.

"Apple Jacks still not sleepin' at night?", he asked, using the nickname he had given Jackson when he was just a baby.

She shook her head, feeling partially at fault for it. "Nah. He just wants to see his dad – and I can't really blame him for that. You know how crazy work's been lately – the time to set up a meet-and-greet just hasn't been there."

"Look, it's not my place, and we all know where I stand on allowing recently released inmates around children - "  
" – but?"  
"But, I think you should make the time. Every kid needs his or her father. Besides, it's not like Voight's going to let his genius offspring screw this up."

The look Rachel shot him had Antonio holding his hands up, as if in self defense, before walking away. He knew that she didn't like negative talk like that about Justin – even if it was true. With a sigh, she pulled her phone free of her pocket, typing up a quick text to Justin's phone. 'Meet me at Bright Horizons Daycare 3. We can go from there'

It took him all of 30 seconds to send her her answer – 'I'll be there. Thank you.'

It was a bit chilly outside, the winter having finally receded it's grip over Chicago, but she saw him standing near the steps as soon as she pulled up.

"How'd you get here?"  
"I just took the El. It's not a big deal."

The hopeful look on his face at the prospect of meeting his son had her feeling bad, thawed a bit of the ice that she had used to protect her heart after all of these years.

"We'll just drive back. It'll give you more time to talk anyway."  
"Rachel, you gotta know how much I appreciate this."

She didn't have a chance to respond before the doors open and kids began running out to meet their parents or caregivers. Jackson came barreling towards them not long after, pausing a bit when he saw the man standing beside his mother.

"Daddy?"

Justin paused, unsure of how to answer the question without confusing the boy. Kneeling down in front of Jackson, Rachel brushed a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Yeah, sweetie. You remember the pictures Momma and Pop-Pop showed you, right?"

Nodding in the affirmative, he stuck his arms out, signaling for Justin to pick him up. Almost afraid that he'd break, the cautious father picked up the young boy, adjusting his weight on his hip. Jackson placed one hand on each side of his father's face, as if he'd find the secret to the Universe in his eyes, before planting a big, slobbery kiss that only toddler's are capable of on his cheek. Rachel heard Jackson murmur two words, before laying his head on the shoulder of a man he knew only from photographs and stories told by his mother, aunt, and grandfather,

"Miss you."


	10. The Same Love That Made Me Laugh

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

* * *

' _It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life.' – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

 _March 2002_

 _The music was loud, some pulsing beat of the latest pop song that seemed to go over well with the younger crowd. It was only 10:30, but between the rest of the prom and all of the after parties, the festivities were expected to last well into the early morning hours. Rachel walked across the front steps of the school for what felt like the millionth time; One could only stomach so many slow songs, looking into the eyes of someone who would much rather be just about anywhere but there. "Stupid fucking dance. Why in the hell did I let myself get talked into this?", she thought out loud, kicking a small stone with the toe of her heels._

" _Come on, we have to get out of here before Lana figures out that I'm gone,"_

 _She turned towards the sound of the voice, knowing who it was before her eyes made contact. Much like his father, Justin had a voice that you could easily pick out of a crowd. They had made a pact before they had even left the apartment that they were each other's 'Fail Safe' – In the event the night was going poorly, one of them would send the other a text and they would go home, no questions asked._

" _Here, you're probably going to want this. It's like….ten degrees out and the El's stopped running an hour ago."_

 _Sliding the coat (that fit him perfectly, but was two sizes too big on her) over her shoulders, the duo began the lengthy walk towards the safety of their home. Rachel felt a bit safer with Justin by her side, but it was still Chicago at night time – and she knew the crime statistics in that area. They remained silent for a bit, the awkward silence stretching over them like a tarp over the baseball diamond during a rainstorm._

" _So, what happened? What had you sending out the Bat-Signal?"  
_ " _It turns out that my date was far more interested in figuring out how to get into Sheila Easton's skirt rather than figuring out how to get ME out of MINE."_

 _The night had actually started out pretty fun, but as it progressed, his interest seemed to wain. After the second consecutive song in which she caught him gazing over her shoulder at Sheila, Rachel politely excused herself to the restroom – knowing that if she had stuck around, she would have laid him on his ass._

" _Why? Why the hell do I keep going after douchebags?", she asked, not fully expecting an answer.  
_ " _Because you're a kind hearted soul, who, at the very core of it, just wants to be loved and accepted by her peers.….that, or you were just hoping to score before all the good little boys and girls went off to their respective hotel rooms for the annual 'swapping-of-STD's' meeting."_

 _She caught herself laughing at the truth in his words. Rachel had never been big on going to dances, but Todd had looked so hopeful when he asked, so positive; it was hard to say no to someone like that._

" _The poor kid just looked so excited when he asked, too. It would have been like kicking a puppy – I couldn't say no! If I had known then what I know now, though, I'd be at home in my sweats, watching reruns of Cops on Spike TV."_

 _"I happen to think you look pretty cute in your sweats too."_

 _The tone of his voice – no longer joking – had her glancing towards Justin, the moonlight casting an almost ethereal glow over the duo._

 _"Jus…"  
_ " _Sssh, just….sssh"_

 _Before her brain had time to catch up with her body, their lips had met in a surprisingly gentle kiss. She wasn't sure if it was the few swigs of booze she had stolen from a flask under the bleachers, the sting of rejection she found from her date, or the moonlight around them. Whatever it was had her leaning in for another kiss – and then another – trying desperately to ignore the way their hands fit so perfectly together, and the way it felt like she was breaking that promise she made to herself all those years ago._

* * *

"Oh, God. Prom was a night I'd much rather forget, thank you very much."

Rachel and Justin sat on the hardwood floor, leaned back against the couch, as they sipped on glasses of wine. Jackson had gone to bed a few hours before, complete with kisses from his mother and his father, and they had been taking a stroll down memory lane ever since.

"Hey, it wasn't that bad of a night."  
"I spent an hour and a half hiding in the girls' room, waiting for you to respond to my text message."  
"…okay, it was pretty bad."

She picked the prom picture off of the coffee table, laughing at the sheer ridiculous of the night. The pink frilly gown that she had worn looked so ridiculous to her now, but the struggle she had gone through to afford it had made it worth it. Justin, as he had the vast majority of the time back then, looked super uncomfortable in the photograph, like he couldn't have wanted out of that situation any faster.

"I hate to rain on our little parade here – but I have to get home. Curfew check is in half an hour."

Nodding, Rachel rose from her sitting position, extending a hand to help Justin do the same. Shoes were slid back on, coats thrown back over shoulders, as she walked him to the taxi waiting at the curb.

"I appreciate tonight, Rach. You didn't have to let me see Jackson ever again, but you did – and I appreciate that more than I will probably ever be able to put into words."  
"So, you fucked up. Big deal. You're out now; you can have a fresh start again. I just…..promise me that you'll keep your head on straight. I can't let you around Jackson if you're going to be in his life one second and out again the next. I won't do that to him."

Justin shook his head frantically and wrapped his arms around Rachel, as if he were afraid of the emotions to be found on her face. As they pulled apart, they found themselves face to face, much like that prom night twelve years before. It was a quick kiss, barely long enough to register on most charts – but she knew. Rachel knew that she was hooked again, was very much screwed.

"I just wanted to see if it was still there. It's nice to see that we still have that effect on each other, eh? Goodnight, Rachel."

Her fingers just traced gently over her lips, as Justin ducked into the cab and pulled away. Rachel's eyes caught on a silver SUV parked across the street. The window was down and it almost looked like someone was peeking out at her. Before she could get across the street, the man had rolled the window up and sped off in the same direction as the cab.

"Trouble just seems to follow you everywhere, doesn't it, Voight?", she muttered to herself. Between Justin, work, and raising a four year old, she figured one of them was going to wind up putting her in an early grave.

Yep. She was definitely screwed.


	11. The Letdown - Price of Company

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go "50 Shades" mainstream on you guys).

 **A/N:** Tried to change it from Justin going back to prison to him going off to the Army. I think the writers for the show definitely did the right thing by setting him on the good path, rather than just shipping him back off to county (although that would've had the potential set-up for a prison based show for the showrunner).

* * *

" _She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with a disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward." – Markus Zuzak_

 _July 2009_

 _The loudness of the fists rapping against the door was almost as loud as her pulse, thrumming just beneath the surface. Justin had came in in a panic, as white as a ghost and breathing as if he had just ran a marathon. She had gotten the story out of him in pieces – he had shoplifted, it hadn't been much, and it had been for that dumbass Joe Catalano's crew on the south end. They had all grown up together, but where Rachel and Erin had eventually chosen the good path, Joe had chosen the wrong one and was gradually convincing Justin to follow behind him. A frantic phone call to Hank had them secure in the knowledge that he was on his way back to her apartment (and knowing him, it was at 70 mph), but it was a race to see which would get there first – Hank or the beat cops who surely had traced Justin's address by now._

 _The uniforms won out._

" _Don't open the door. Just don't answer it.", his voice shook with each word, betraying how frightened he was at the prospect of jail time.  
_ " _Yeah, because that will really work when your dad shows up, yelling about the phone call one of us made to him. What's the worst that's going to happen, Justin? They'll take you down to the district, but you and I both know that the most you'll spend inside is the night."_

 _Rachel rose from where she had been sitting on the sofa, making her way to the door, trying to ignore the worried stare she felt against her back. Two officers, who couldn't really have been that much older than either she or Justin, stood in the doorway._

" _We're looking for a Justin Voight,", the taller of the two asked, sounding as if he wanted to be anywhere but right there at that very moment.  
_ " _That's me,"_

 _The officers stepped around her, almost shoving her to the side, as they walked towards Justin. One moved to place his hands behind his back, while the other pulled a little laminated card from his shirt pocket._

 _"Justin Voight, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to have…"_

 _The words of the officer reading the Miranda Rights faded away, becoming little more than an afterthought. They could fool themselves into thinking it'd be a simple overnight jail stay until they met with the judge in the morning – but they were just fooling themselves. Joe Catalano didn't have a reputation for doing little petty crimes; Hell, his personal catch phrase was "Go big or go home". His ambition didn't bode well for Justin's future at the moment. Hank's looming presence vaguely registered on her radar, trying to convince the Uni's to just release Justin into his custody, but they were two by-the-book rookies who weren't about to budge._

" _I didn't mean for it to go this way, Rachel. I didn't! You gotta believe me…."_

* * *

"I didn't mean for it to go this way, Rachel. I didn't! You gotta believe me…."

Rachel hadn't truly believed his words four years ago, and she wasn't finding them any more believable now. She knew that once Voight had gotten an idea in his head, there were no words that would convince him that any other idea was remotely close to as good – but shipping Justin off to the Army? Now? A part of her saw the logic behind Hank's idea: Justin would get the direction he needed, the structure that might help him really keep his head on straight, especially after getting mixed up with Catalano and his crew yet again. She found herself feeling stupid, as if Justin had pulled the wool over her eyes time and time again and she just kept falling for it. Things were supposed to have been different this time; they had Jackson to think about now, a family to try and hold together for their son's sake – and yet rather than working that CTA job, Justin had gone right back to his old ways. _'Fuck it'_ , she mused. _'He screwed up. Let his father handle it this time.'_ Was she hurt? Sure. Betrayed? Absolutely. Disappointed? More than she'd ever be able to adequately put into words. That was the worst part. She knew that when she went home the four year old carbon copy of Justin was going to look at her, his eyes so hopeful and bright, and ask where his daddy was. There would be no lie to placate him until he moved on to the next thing, just weeks of waiting until he got leave, if Justin managed to make it that far. Rachel couldn't, and wouldn't, lie for him again.

A look at her watch told her that if she left now, she'd just barely make it to the daycare in time to meet Jackson. It would be a hard thing to explain to him, but she likened it to pulling off a band-aid – the faster she did it, the sooner it would be over and done with. Inwardly cursing him for putting them through this, Rachel pressed the 'end' button for the call, nearly running straight into someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't see you there,", she mumbled, looking up into the eyes of the person she had nearly knocked over it.

"It's no problem at all, Detective Clarke. Oh, my apologies. Are you going by that or Detective Voight these days?"

It was _him_ , the same guy who had been parked across the street when Justin had left her home a few weeks prior. Sure, it could have been a simple coincidence, but in a city of almost 2.7 million people, it was one hell of a coincidence. She moved to grab him, but since it was nearly five pm and everyone was beginning to get off of work, she quickly lost track of him in the haze of coming and going.

Parking the sedan at the curb, Rachel slid from the driver's seat and leaned against the hood. _'Cue hyperactive four year old in three…..two…..one…..',_ she found herself thinking. The only problem was that when she got to zero, there was no hyperactive child. There was no one, for that matter. A quick check of her watch, dashboard clock and phone clock all revealed the same thing – she _should_ have been on time.

"Mrs. Voight!"

One of the daycare teachers who insisted on calling her Mrs. Voight was waving her over to the doors, the sickeningly sweet smile on her face not matching the rapidly developing sense of panic that Rachel felt. A small watch and a note were thrust at her as soon as she walked up.

"Your husband picked Jackson up today. He's a gentleman, that one…"  
"Ms. Vorhees, my husband didn't pick Jackson up today. He's….indisposed."  
"Never the less, the man you sent in your absence was quite the gentleman. Jackson was just playing on the swing set – you know how much he loves those, It typically takes a small army to convince him to walk away. This man walked right up and away they went. With how easy he went, I just assumed it was someone you sent in your place. It was quite miraculous…"

Rachel turned from the overeager young teacher, and ripped open the note, holding it against the small watch. She found herself hoping against all hope that she was wrong, that everything was going to be okay. "C'mon, please don't do this to me, not now."

' _Tick tock – this is a clock.  
And when that clock date moves to eight,  
You'll have to pick a funeral date._

 _Tick tock, Rachel. Jackson's waiting…'_

"Shit."


	12. Sacrifice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go '50 Shades' mainstream on you guys).

 **Author's Note:** This chapter is going to be a bit choppy, as it bounces from Rachel's perspective to the team's perspective and back again.

* * *

' _Often when we realize how precious those seconds are, it's too late for them to be captured because the moment has passed. We realize too late.' – Cecelia Ahern_

 _February 2001_

" _VOIGHT. OPEN THE DOOR. I KNOW YOU HAVE HER IN THERE! YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER! KEYWORD: MINE! "_

 _Ignoring her mother's frantic screams that were sure to be the gossip of the white-collar community within the hour, Rachel lay on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, hoping that the slight chill would take away the searing heat of the detox. After the 'slip up', Hank had convinced her P.O. to give her one more chance, assured him that she wasn't going to be touching the drugs again. Her probation officer had warned them that coming off of the dope wasn't going to be pretty, but she had been wholly unprepared for just how awful it was going to be. Shakes, Fever (that seemed to occur simultaneously with cold chills), aching bones – she had it all. Hank had sent Camille, Justin, and Erin to Camille's mothers house in Lake Forrest, wanting to spare the other family members from seeing the absolute destruction of a drug detox. He soothed the shivering teenager, putting a fresh cold cloth on her forehead._

" _Leave your mother to me. Let's just focus on you right now, kid."  
_ " _Why…..Why isn't it stopping? Shouldn't it be getting better by now?", she whimpered, her voice as meek and mild as a field mouse._

 _He felt for her, wanted to take the painful burden away from her, but knew that as shitty as coming down probably felt to her, she would be much appreciative in the end._

" _VOIGHT. OPEN THE GODDAMNED DOOR OR SO HELP ME GOD, I'M GONNA – "  
_ " _YOU'RE GOING TO DO WHAT?"_

 _The vehemence in Rachel's tone had even Hank taking a step or two away in surprise. He had rarely heard her say anything even remotely angry, and to hear her do so in her current state shocked him._

" _PLEASE, DO TELL, MOTHER DEAREST. I'M DYING TO KNOW WHAT THE MOTHER OF THE YEAR IS GOING TO DO. Oh, that wasn't such a good idea." Groaning, she sunk back onto the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs as another round of shakes racked her all-too-thin frame. Hank rose from where he kneeled beside her and moved to the door, wanting to damage control the situation._

" _Bunny, you have got to go. She's in real bad shape, and the last thing she needs is someone comin' in, reeking of fresh cooked meth."  
_ " _I don't – "  
_ " _Just shut up and go."_

 _In a moment of reflection, of clarity, or perhaps just out of self-preservation, Rachel's mother turned to Hank, looking as contrite as he imagined was possible for someone in her situation. He could see bits and pieces of Rachel and Erin in her face, which made this whole mess even worse._

" _I'm tryin', Voight. Alright? I'm – I'm tryin' to get myself together, so they can come home."  
_ " _and I hope you do get yourself together. But if you don't, if you find yourself in the same place in six months, don't bother comin' back here. I'll have you thrown in county blues before you even know what's going on."_

 _He shut the door in the woman's face, hearing muffled sobs – though he was no longer sure if they were from Bunny or from Rachel – and one last sentence from the woman on the other side of the door._

" _I'm sorry, baby. I'm….I'm so…..I'm sorry."_

* * *

Rachel's head rested firmly in her hands, thoughts moving at a million miles per hour. Part of her knew that as a child abduction case, especially when that child belonged to one of their own, the unit was working double time to bring him home – but the mother in her felt like they weren't doing enough, weren't moving fast enough. After the thousandth time of the rookie ("Ruzek", she reminded herself. "His name is Ruzek.") asking her if she was okay, she had snapped at him and used quite a few of the foul words that they heard on a daily basis – and a few that may not have actually been words at all, just angry sounding letters thrown together. They had mostly left her alone after that, tried to quarantine her in Hank's office (and quickly realized that that plan wasn't going to work). Even Platt had brought her coffee once or twice, with the gentle assurance that her boy was going to brought home safe and sound. She wanted to believe them, wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life. Knowing the city as well as she did though, knowing the statistics that the chances of recovery after the first 24 hours gradually began to dwindle – it was enough to send her tail spinning into panic-induced hysteria.

"Anything from the traffic cams check out?", Voight asked, casting a worried look towards his office, towards his daughter in-law and the vacant look on her face that seemed to have taken up permanent residence.

"Nothing really out of the ordinary. A few SUV's matched her description of the guy who had been tailing her, but nothing concrete just yet. Jin's running them through the DMV, see what he comes up with.", Jay chimed in from his desk.

"Tell him to get back to me ASAP – and by ASAP, I don't mean whenever the fuck he feels like it. I mean as soon as he gets a whiff of something moving in the right direction, got it?", he growled, waiting just long enough to catch the young detective nodding in the affirmative. It took balls to kidnap a cop's kid, he'd give them that – took balls that they wouldn't be keeping once he figured out who they were – and he **would** figure it out.

Olinsky was apparently the only one brave enough to approach him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"We're going to find Jackson and bring him home."  
"Yeah, I know that. I don't think she does, though.", he found himself replying, gesturing towards Rachel with his head.

* * *

"Alright, God – it's just you and me now, although I guess it's always been just you and me."

Looking down at her folded hands, she remember how Antonio had told her that prayer was what kept him sane during Diego's disappearance. Rachel had never been real big on religion, had always thought it was a cheap 'out', a way to deny all responsibility for ones actions and blame it on someone else – but what the hell, she was desperate.

"I don't ask for a-whole lot. I don't ask for world peace or a million dollars or a shower that will give me more than five minutes of hot water in the morning before it blasts me with ice crystals. Nah, that's all frivolous crap that I'm pretty sure I can live without. In my entire life, I've asked for one thing: Keep my boy safe. I don't know if you've got some masterplan up there or if you just like watching all of us run around like chickens with their heads cut off – but I'm asking, I'm begging you. Please. Keep my boy safe. If anything happened to him…."

"Nothing's going to happen to him."

Voight's voice cut right through her moment of self-reflection bringing her right back to the present. He tried to smile, to reassure her – he failed.

"I get it now,"  
"Get what?", he questioned, as he took a seat across from her.

"When I was 16, so damned sick that I could barely tell which end was up. My mom came by the house and demanded that you return me and Erin. I thought that she only wanted us back into her custody so she could go back to getting the welfare checks."

The silence stretched for a moment, as if both parties got lost in their respective memories of the past.

"I was wrong. My mom was a shit parent, of that there is no doubt – but she felt it, that….. _ **thing**_ that all parents feel towards their children. She was legitimately scared that she had fucked up. I get it now."  
"Rachel, that's not you. We're going to find him and we're going to bring him home."

She slid back into her chair, head falling back into the familiar grasp of her hands, muttering the same thing over and over again.

"I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry."


	13. Search and Destroy

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go '50 Shades' mainstream on you guys).

 **Author's Note:** Part of this chapter may seem a bit out of character for Rachel – but keep in mind, that this is a woman (a former addict) pushed to her breaking point. She's doing this out of desperation for her son. Pontiac is also a real maximum security prison in Illinois – my dad worked there for like ten years.

* * *

"Fuck!"

The tension was at an all-time high in the Intelligence Unit, Halstead's words cutting through the air like a hot knife. It had been non-stop intelligence gathering for over a week, CI's being interrogated and undercover detectives from other units being pulled out of the field to help. Papers covered their desks, desperately seeking something, anything, that would give them a peak into Jackson's disappearance.

"How in the hell can a kid go missing in broad daylight and nobody sees anything?" he muttered, tossing the file he had been rummaging through to the side, its contents spilling out.

"He fuckin' can't, that's how.", Antonio's voice echoed from his desk on the other side of the room.

Knocking his chair back, he went to the board that they had dubbed 'command central', taping a picture to it.

"A silver Dodge Durango popped up on the traffic cameras near Rachel's apartment on a dozen separate occasions, which isn't so much a cause for concern – had they not also showed up on the cameras near little man's daycare on a dozen separate occasions as well."

The other detectives glanced at the pictures, and sure enough, it was the same vehicle each and every time. In each instance, they were within distance to watch Rachel and Jackson's movement studiously, taking down notes of their daily routine. It was apparently to the seasoned officers that somebody had been tracking their teammate for quite some time without her knowledge.

"Do we know who the driver is?", Voight asked, his words echoing their thoughts.

"Guy by the name of Ramon Estaban, lives over on west 51st street."  
"51st is Latin Kings territory.", Olinsky chimed in.

"I want to go with you."

They turned towards the door of Voight's office, Rachel's exhausted body leaning against the frame. It was clear she hadn't slept in days – probably hadn't ate in as many; the stress was beginning to take its toll on the young detective.

"Rachel, I really don't…"  
"I'm not going to let my child stay with that psychopath any longer because I'm a bit on the tired side. Boo-fucking-hoo, I'll get over being tired – my son won't get over being kidnapped."

Voight wanted to argue, wanted to convince Rachel that the last thing she should do was confront the man who may or may not be responsible for the absolute nightmare her life had turned into – but once glance at the eyes he had watched mature over the years told him everything he needed to know; She was a mother concerned for her child and she wasn't going to back down without a fight.

"Alright. Saddle up, kids – to 51st we go."

* * *

The buildings passed by in a blur, people involved in their own lives becoming little more than a blip on Rachel's radar, falling off just as quickly as they appeared. Each monument they had passed held certain significance to her – The street that Jackson was learning to ride his bike on, the street she learned to ride her own bike on, the corner she made her first drug purchase on. In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if this was a punishment, if she hadn't spent her entire life making mistake after mistake and her son's kidnapping was just the comeuppance she was being forced to pay. She felt a warm hand encase her own, giving a firm squeeze of reassurance.

"We're going to find him, and before you know it, this is all just going to be a bad memory.", Hank tried to reassure her from the driver's seat, watching as the once vibrant woman sunk further and further into herself. "This isn't on you, you know."

 _"Yo, this is Estaban walking out now – blue jeans, black hoodie."_

Their attention snapped to the suspect walking out of the corner liquor store, description matching the one Antonio had just radio'd. Shutting the doors quietly behind them as not to spook him, Voight and Rachel approached him cautiously, Jay and Erin approaching from behind so he couldn't evade them.

"Ramon Estaban, Chicago PD. We need you to keep your hands out of your pockets and stay right where you are."

"Fuck you _, 5-0."_ , he muttered before turning on his heels and darting down a side alley.

Rachel was chasing after him before she even knew what was happening. Her feet pounding the worn city pavement, the echoing footsteps of her collegues not far behind. There was chatter over their radios as someone called out their locations, Olinsky confirming that he was blocking off the exit of the alley. Her lungs burned with unbridled hope, muscles screaming in protest at their sudden use – but she wouldn't stop, not when they were so close. When she was just a breath away from him, she leapt forward, tackling the man who was probably twice her size to the hard ground beneath them.

"I ain't do nothin', puta."  
"Shut up."  
"Fuckin' pigs always…"  
"I said shut the fuck up!", she ordered, slamming his face into the pavement, the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking not going unnoticed. The footsteps came to a stop behind them, the other detectives helping her turn Estaban over to face them.

"What do you know about the kidnapping over a little boy on Monday afternoon?"  
"Fuck you! This bitch just broke my fuckin' nose!"

Out of the corner of her eye, a .9mm gun that she recognized as Voight's personal weapon came into view. Turning her head, she recognized the look of barely-contained rage on his face, one she had seen many times before and had luckily never been on the receiving end of.

"You have ten minutes before this alley is filled with uniforms", he murmered. "Do what you need to do, kid."

Turning back towards her suspect, Rachel felt a sense of calm settle over her. She knew exactly what she _wanted_ to do – but she also knew what she _had_ to do; there was a certain kind of beauty in the simplicity of it that pleased her in a way not many things did anymore. Estaban's eyes looked confused, as though he had just stepped into some alternate reality.

"Tell me what you know about the kidnapping of Jackson Voight on Monday afternoon."  
"Fuck you."

She wanted to laugh at his ignorance of what was about to happen, but thought better of it. Grabbing his jaw in one of her hands, she pressed on the joint, forcing it to open.

"Open your jaw or so help me God, I'll break it like I did your nose."

Whether it was her tone of voice, or the sight of the detectives behind her nodding their heads to the affirmative, he opened his jaw wide – his eyes opening just as wide when she slid the barrel of the gun in, just past his teeth.

"What do you know about the kidnapping?", she asked again, not entirely surprised when he shook his head 'no'. Pulling the hammer back on the gun, she heard the click of a bullet sliding in to the chamber.

"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time – and if you choose not to answer me this time, I'm going to make you regret the day you were born. Once we're done, I'll go to your family and make them regret letting you live this long. What do you know about the kidnapping?"

He mumbled something around the gun, forcing her to withdraw it to understand him.

"Joe Catalano!", he shouted out, wanting to get the fuck out of the situation. "He was pissed that the kid's dad made the deal for early release. The deal got Catalano's right hand man sent to Pontiac for 20 to life. He wanted us to teach him what it felt like to lose somethin' too soon…"

"Where is the kid being held?"  
"Some warehouse by the docks, number 2."  
"Thanks for your help, Estaban. Nighty-night."

He looked confused for a moment, before Rachel swung the weapon – the cracking of the pistol against his face knocking him unconscious. Halstead and Ruzek moved to lift him to his feet, walking him to the waiting squad car at the other end of the alley.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to fuckin' kill him."  
"We can't have you killing Catalano, Rachel."  
"Not him! Your son. I'm going to fuckin' kill him for getting Jackson mixed up in all of his bullshit."

Voight laughed for a second, more out of relief than anything. He didn't necessarily like seeing Rachel angry at his son, but after being in a near comatose state for the past week, he'd take what he could get.

* * *

Estaban hadn't lied. As they approached the warehouses, Catalano's vehicle was parked right out front. ' _What a genius',_ she mused. _'Did he honestly think we weren't going to connect the dots eventually? Such a moron. I can't believe Justin ever dealt with this douche'._ Checking that the straps of her Kevlar vest were secured, they all inched towards the door – waiting for Olinsky to give them the all clear from his sniper's nest on a neighboring building. Erin flung the door open, entering the building in a flurry of activity. Three of his cronies were on the ground, courtesy of Antonio, Erin, and Ruzek. Halstead was helping Voight hold Catalano against a wall.

"Well, I also knew you were a smart cookie, Clarke. You figured out our little rhyme sooner than I thought you might."  
"I don't care what your beef with Justin is. Where's my kid?"  
"You're too late. It's a clock, remember? 'When that clock date moves to eight, you'll have to pick a funeral date', remember Detective? What's the date today?"

Remembering the note that she had received from the daycare worker, Rachel frantically glanced down at the clock on her phone.

"Today's the eighth.", Antonio groaned from his position near the floor.

"Oops, guess you didn't figure it out soon enough. Too bad, so sad."

Hank twisted Catalano's arm behind him, straining the joint until he felt it pop beneath the pressure.

"Where's the kid?"  
"He's around here somewhere. You know how some people can be, just misplacing their trash."

Rachel took off towards the back of the warehouse, not caring if she were gunned down anymore. Turning towards the other detectives, Voight motioned for them to follow her. "Leave these assholes. Fan out, don't leave a stone unturned, you understand?"

There were boxes everywhere, dust and old wrappers littering the floor of the aging warehouse. It hadn't been used actively in years, random homeless people choosing instead to use it for shelter from the cold winters. Rachel's heart was going a million miles per minute, feeling as thought it were going to jump right out of her chest at any time. She had to find Jackson – there was no alternative in her book. She didn't care about the repercussions she could be facing from her actions, as long as she got her boy back safe.

" _Guys,"_ she heard Erin call over the radio. _"You may want to get over here – back right corner of the warehouse."_

Her feet moved of their own volition, reaching the sectioned off area at the same time as Voight. There was an open shipping container in front of her, Erin and Halstead both looking like they had seen a ghost. Hank grabbed her arm to stop her from moving forward to see what they had found,

"Rachel, I really don't think you should…"

Looking towards the container, she finally caught sight of it.

Peeking out of the container was the tiny, lifeless hand of a four year old little boy.


	14. Darkness DescendsTRIGGER WARNING

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Chicago PD, Chicago Fire, or any song lyrics/quotes contained within. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only, and as such, I am not making a profit (and have no intentions to go '50 Shades' mainstream on you guys)

 **Author's Note:** I want to thank you guys for being so patient and continuing to enjoy this story. The next series in the works, but I'd like to get all of the chapters completely written before posting anything on that story. This is the final chapter of Ahead of the Curve - enjoy.

* * *

 **TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE**

 _In loving memory,_  
 _Jackson Tyler Voight_  
 _September 4, 2010 - June 8, 2014_

 _With deepest sorrow, the Voight family regrets to announce the passing of Jackson T. Voight on June 8, 2014. We thank you for the love and friendship you have shown, which gave Jackson much happiness._

She had lost track of time; It felt as though an eternity had passed, but in reality, had only been three months, give or take a few days. She felt empty, as if someone had taken everything that made her human, made her whole - and just ripped it away from her. The chief had told - ordered - her to take some time off, recover from this loss. _'Ha'_ , she thought. _'Recover? I can't imagine what that would even be like'._ The team had made their obligatory visits - Halstead and Ruzek had brought video games, Antonio food from his wife and letters from the kids, Olinsky had plied her with a bottle of whiskey. _'You always were my favorite, Al'_

Justin, who had requested temporarily leave from the base (and been denied due to a huge lack of staffing), had been inconsolable, according to Hank. She couldn't bring herself to go with him - had considered it, but didn't think she could bear the guilt and sorrow of having to tell Jackson's father that she hadn't been able to protect their son. _'I didn't protect? No, fuck that. If it weren't for Justin, Catalano wouldn't have been after Jackson in the first place'_. The rational part of Rachel knew that it really wasn't either one of their fault - but the distraught part was content to stew in her rage for a little bit longer.

Looking down at her coffee table, she saw Jackson's favorite stuffed bear, Mr. Snuggles. He had been so excited when he got it, had had to sleep with it every night since. The edges were a bit freyed, the eye had to be reattached no less than ten times, but he didn't care. Next to the bear was a syringe full of black tar heroin, her old drug of choice - enough to make even the heaviest of users O.D. in no time at all. One of her CI's had managed to score it for her (with the understanding that it was a personal favor for her and they wouldn't get in trouble for doing so). It was an awful habit, one she had kicked with Voight's help years ago. _'But what the hell...my job is stalled, my husband is back in county lockup and my kid is dead. What's the point?'_

A knock rapped against her door, a familiar voice following.

"Rachel, you in there, kid?"

 _'Hank, knew he'd come by sooner or later'_

"Go away, Hank. I'm not really in the mood for visitors right now."  
"C'mon, Rachel. I know you miss him - we all do. Don't shut yourself off again."

Her eyes went down to the syringe, flicking the orange cap off onto the floor somewhere. Finding the good vein in her arm - the sweet spot, she had called it - she tapped the vein a few times before letting the needle pierce her skin. The plunger slid down easily, the sweet relief of her high flooding through her body like sunlight washing over you on a nice, warm day. Picking up Mr. Snuggles, she curled up on the sofa, holding this last piece of her son as close to her heart as she possibly could.

"You should jus' go, Hank. 's not like I'd be ver' good company righ' now, anyway.", her words slurred - and Voight must have known something was wrong as the pounding on the door got more insistant with each passing second.

"Rachel, open the damned door, I'm not playing anymore. Rachel!"

It was like he was with her. His smiles and laughter, the way he curled into his pillow at naptime - the memories were all so vivid to her now.

The door splintered, flinging open as Voight rammed his shoulder into it. A muffled 'shit' was heard under his breath as he went to a nearly unconscious Rachel, the empty syringe on the floor next to her. Punching some numbers into his phone, he connected with the operator.

"Sergeant Voight - We need an ambo at 4211 Pulaski for a possible O.D. on the double!"

Flinging his phone to the side, his hand went to Rachel's much smaller wrist, finding a very faint pulse.

"C'mon kid, don't die on me now."

a smile ghosting across her face, Rachel found herself replying "It's okay, Voight. He's here for me."

"Who's here, kid?", the worry was etched into features as he watched the woman who was much like a daughter falling deeper and deeper into a hallucination.

"What d'you mean who? Can't you see him? My boy's here."

Her hand stretched forward, reaching out to touch what she thought was her son - but was really just thin air.

"No, Rachel. Jackson's gone, kid - It's just me, and I need you to stay awake for me."

Another smile, much weaker than the one before it, ghosted onto her features, as her hand went to Hank's face.

" 's okay, Hank. I'm goin' to be with my boy again."

Pulling the bear into her chest one last time, she closed her eyes, letting the sweet darkness envelop her, amidst the sound of Jackson's laughter and smiles.


End file.
